


I’m Just So Numb Without You

by lostinthesounds



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired, bellarke au!, cloak and dagger, that show is insanely good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthesounds/pseuds/lostinthesounds
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke have powers that resulted from a fateful night. She could make a knife made of light, a single touch can bring her into someone’s hopes. Bellamy the total opposite, living in shadows and fear.She lost her dad in a car crash and respectively, he lost his best friend due to gang violence.They have to build trust and faith in eachother as they try to navigate life with sudden realizations. How can they save their city when they can’t save themselves from their own demons inside? It’s impossible.But they have eachother. They can get through the pain if they stick together.Or,If Bellarke were Cloak and Dagger.





	I’m Just So Numb Without You

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my drafts for a while and I didn’t want to lose it, so I’m posting this finally. This is a story of Bellamy and Clarke in the Cloak and DaggerAU! (Also the show on freeform is fantastic and I love Olivia Holt and Aubrey Joseph a ton omg.) 
> 
> I love the story, both ships, so that means I’m doing this. (And hopefully staying committed.) 
> 
> find me on twitter: tandysdecker for anything! <3 enjoy

“Just give it back to me,” Bellamy steps closer, invading the personal space of a stranger. She only reaches up to fix the way her beanie covered her hair, and his hand extends out. “You took my wallet.” 

 

“How do you know it was me?” She questions, although her wide eyes give it away. She was screwed, it was like this guy could see and suspect anything. She still tries to play him, “We’re at a party with a bunch of teenagers who have to use money to get beer.” 

 

Clarke remembers how she flirted with a guy with shaggy hair that fell on his shoulders, greasy and not attractive in her eyes. He had offered her a sip of his drink, the infamous beer (cheap and stale, if she may conclude) and she took it with a smile. It was how she hooked people into trusting her, even just for a moment. She took a swig and tried to keep her face blank, the urge to shake her head in disgust was strong. 

 

The guy in front of her stares at her with disbelief, “You’re kidding? You can’t admit to your faults? Your _crime_?” 

 

The wallet, _his_ wallet suddenly feels heavy in her back pocket. She looks up at him, her voice low “It wasn’t a crime.” 

 

“I’m definitely sure that stealing someone’s wallet is a crime,” He said, his eyes narrowed. “So can I have it? I don’t want to force you to give it to me.” 

 

“If it’s yours, then take it from me.” 

 

She had the nerve to put the pressure on him, and he groaned. 

 

“I’m not doing that.” 

 

“Then I’ll keep it.” 

 

“I’m not putting my hands on you,” He said with certainty, his hand even pulling back to rest at his side. “I barely know you, _no_ , I don’t even know you and I’m not planning to get accused of anything tonight.” 

 

It was like he could read her mind, and she wonders if he could suspect how hard she’s thinking of a plan to get away. 

 

From a quick look inside his wallet when she first took it, he had a few twenty dollar bills and a bunch of gift cards. She could use those. She needs to use them to get more necessities, like food and drinks and sweaters to keep warm at night. 

 

She bites her lip, close to breaking. 

 

“Look, I really need the cash.” She whispered, giving no attention to why she would do such a thing when she’s only talking to him. “I’m sorry for doing this but I _need_ —“

 

The second that Clarke managed to turn around and leap forward to try and gain a head start to running away from the boy she stole from, he had grabbed her hand forcefully; only causing the world to shift on her axis. 

 

Their fingers interlocked, but only for a split second. She was sent flying backwards, the dirt spun beneath her feet as she felt her body get pulled back with force. A loud groan of pain passed her lips, her body colliding with a cement statue as she slides to the floor. 

 

She thinks it’s Heaven, it _has_ to be,  there’s a bright light that she can see when her eyes are closed shut. Her head is pounding, her shoulders burn with pressure and she finally opens her eyes. 

 

Clarke looks down at her hands, and her eyes widen so big that she’s scared they could fall out. She winced, looking away from the white light quickly so she doesn’t get blinded. When she decides to have another go, another try to figure out what the _actual_ hell was happening to her hands. They were glowing, palms turned upwards and lit so bright that her face felt warm. 

 

“Hey, are you okay?” The guy asks, his voice raspy. Her eyes snap up to look in the direction of his voice, and that’s when he finally sees what she is seconds away from losing her mind over. He shakes his head, “What the hell is happening to you?” 

 

She gasps, “You have it too.” 

 

Her hands are shaking, but she gets lost in the way the darkness around the boy’s shoulders gets impossibly thicker and consuming. How could he not see it? 

 

It looks like he’s floating. She licks her lips, looking carefully just to make sure. 

 

“You’re glowing.” 

 

“I’m not.” He says pointedly, his eyes locked at her hands in awe. “But you are.” 

 

“You can’t feel it?” She questions, as she pulls herself to her feet. With a little help from the stability of the statue, her hands grip the edges until she stands on both feet. “You’re glowing with _darkness_ , and it’s all around you. And your hands too,” She looks down at him, but he stands abruptly which causes him to stumble forward. “It’s coming from your skin.” 

 

She tries to catch him before he falls to the ground, but there’s a force between them which stings when she reaches forward. She curses aloud, the pain shooting through her hands to her arms and legs; she can’t touch him. _She can’t touch him_ , she repeats in her mind again. 

 

He looks down, and his eyes widen in horror. Clarke is reminded of the pounding of her skull when she shakes her head back and forth in disbelief, in shock and every other emotion in between. She stands straighter, and she rubs her hands against her jeans to see if anything would happen—if the light would disappear— and nothing happens. 

 

 _Nothing_. 

 

 

Her hands...they were _still_ glowing. 

 

 

“I-I should go,” She stuttered, her flight or fight response kicking in. She had been caught stealing someone’s wallet which could get her in trouble, she realized, and she had been thrown back into concrete with a boy who had darkness surrounding his body like it was finally alive, _thriving_ in him. Clarke fixes the beanie on her head to cover her forehead, afraid to check for blood that would stick to her skin, and she steps back. “I really, _really_ , need to go.” 

 

Then, the boy’s hand reaches forward and it’s like he wanted to grab for her but she was too far. _She was lighting in his world of black fog_ , and he gets to his feet and tries not to look at himself. Leaving his eyes to wander, the shock never dulled. 

 

“You can’t leave,” He says, “Not when we don’t know what the _hell_ this is.” He empathized, although he learned his lesson from before—he can’t get too close—the statue he had been thrown into was pointy and hard, and something he never wanted to feel again. 

 

“This isn’t,” Clarke swallowed thickly and continued to step back, trying to stop the urge to double over and hurl. “This isn’t normal.” 

 

She adds on, “I _can’t_ ,”  

 

He must’ve heard the panic in her voice, the shakiness of holding back her true emotions towards all of this. 

 

“Don’t run away.” He states, as if it was and could ever be simple. It’s all she’s ever done, all she knows. “I’m just as confused as you are, and I don’t know how to stop this.” He gestured to the consuming aura of darkness around his body, and he sighed. 

 

He steps closer, and she breaks. 

 

 

 _She can’t touch him_. 

 

 

Looking down at her hands, the warmth that left her fingers tingling with heat and a feeling that makes her feel alive inside, a feeling she’s never felt. She _breaks_ , in front of a stranger. 

 

 

“Don’t get any closer.” She warned. 

 

“If we’re going to figure this out, I kind of need to get—“ 

 

“We can’t, _shouldn’t_ , touch.” She backs away, not bothering to look what she could possibly step into. “You have to go.” 

 

“You don’t think I’m scared?” He suddenly snapped, “You don’t think that I don’t wanna run away? _Shit_ , I could feel myself shake, and this terrifies me.” He looks down at his hands, now wrapped in small waves of black waves, a sign of everything dark and he felt like a monster. “Please, don’t leave.” His voice cracked, a peak into the world of a boy who’s breaking as time passes. 

 

Clarke has had enough. 

 

With narrowed eyes, a calm silence between them, she makes the decision to leave herself. 

 

She runs faster than shes ever ran before in her life, out of the cemetery with burning legs and calves as her eyes sting with tears. 

 

She only knows the boy hasnt followed her when she’s peeling the wooden panels off of the window she uses to get into the abandoned church—her home— and there’s the familiar sense of loneliness, fear, and longing that comes to her in waves. 

 

When her head hits the pillow, her body warm with her favorite sweater, she lets herself feel pity for the boy she had met earlier. 

 

They both looked so afraid. But for Clarke, it was normal. She may have absolutely no idea why her hands were glowing white light that almost blinded her, but she knows that she was alone and nobody would stick around long enough to care why she was freaking out. 

 

She doesn’t sleep that night. She can’t get her mind to shut off, to stop the worry from sleeping through when her hands felt cold. 

 

She felt cold when just an hour ago, she was held together—all of her broken pieces and instability—by the fire that grew inside. She could remember the way her fingers ached, they tingled in sensation, they reacted to the warmth in such a way that left her speechless. Like she was made, to use that light like a super power—that’s how normal it felt. 

 

Her fingers flutter in response to her thoughts, and Clarke wants to laugh because there’s _no_ way that she was a superhero, _absolutely_ no way. 

 

She couldn’t sleep, so she thinks about the boy instead. (She’s up all night.) 


End file.
